Metamorphosis
by Pes Anserinus
Summary: Woody's getting closer to falling off the proverbial ledge... Prequel to 'Off Of Life's Little Edge'
1. Chapter One

Characters here are still not mine, not for profit, you know the drill. Here's a prequel to "Off of Life's Little Edge", as per request. Enjoy.

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A metamorphosis, by definition, is denoted by a significant change in appearance, character, condition, or function.

It was all of the above for him, more than just once, in some way or another.

A light way to think of it would be to equate the meaning of metamorphosis to the busy little caterpillar making a cocoon, and emerging later as a fully grown, brightly colored butterfly. And that's exactly how his childhood transition went. From plump little boy, to a grown, handsome man... and through it all he had somehow remained just as naïve. Which could be seen as a blessing, or not, depending on your point of view.

After the fact, a metamorphosis is evident, even blatantly obvious. It all starts when the caterpillar curls up and hides in a chrysalis, oblivious to the outside world around him. He has no concept of life outside those walls, outside that restriction. Hiding away from the world, he can transform... begin anew. But once his seemingly dormant, sheltered life gives way, onto him a whole brave new reality is born.

What to do with that reality? That is the ultimate question.

Anyhow, he receives a new appearance, a new presence about him, and, in this one's case, a beautiful girl on his side. But appearances can be deceiving.

There was still a pull, a desire to become more. And the ill sentiment received from said girl's father further pushed him to find what he was seeking elsewhere. The way he figured it—she had seen him change, she knew his past. That in itself was somewhat unsettling.

He could have remained in his hometown, sure, but the ache of 'what if' would have driven him insane. That, and being a cop _there_ wasn't enough... He knew this, for that feeling to become more. That drive was innate, as such metamorphoses are.

So he became a true butterfly if you will, spreading his wings and flying, some one thousand plus miles away... to a city where nobody knew his name, his past, his faults.

With twelve hundred dollars to his name, he opted for the studio. A simple, bachelor pad... a place to call home. Why not go for the one bedroom apartment? Well, it's simple... see, he wanted a suit. He knew that he looked different, but he wanted to _appear_ different. He had a desire to lay his past to rest; he wanted to fit in somewhere. After all, they do say the clothes make the man.

And he soon acclimated to city life, for it was a city full of bright lights, full of sights and sounds, of excitement, of children in parks and families out shopping... full of danger...

It was a fresh start, and he brought with him a new outlook on life, yet he remained as green as the Midwestern grass he had grown up playing football upon. That, and he had no taste for ties.

Job description? Catch the bad guy. Simple as that, but yet in Boston, it wasn't so. In fact, he often found himself perplexed as to whom the "bad guy" even was—which is where this particular girl came in. She was a medical examiner... you know, the one that handles _the bodies_.

Void of passivity, full of issues. She wasn't one to take crap from anyone without giving them an earful. But he knew then that he liked her anyway, almost instantaneously.

He could recall the first time they met like he could recall his last name. It was an instinctual memory... spontaneous as such things can be. However, it really wasn't until he found himself asking dispatch to request her that he came to partially admit his rather schoolboy sort of crush to himself, let alone the rest of the world. He took to analyzing the situation, concluding that it couldn't have been just that she was hot, though she was, without a doubt. That red dress was the clincher.

It was more than that; it had to be.

Oh and a devil in a red dress she was... he often found himself subject to her whim, without even realizing that she had led him there. The sad part is that even if he was somewhat conscious of the games she played, he followed her anyway. If only to alleviate a bit of his concern.

And did he really care that she seemed to, for lack of a better word, 'use' him to get at something she ultimately wanted? That jury was still out on that one. After all, in return for his efforts, there was dance here, a touch along the cheek there... and then, of course, yet another favor over there.

All he really knew was that she could manage to send chills down his spine just by entering the room. Whether said chills were good or bad, that depended upon what sort of mischief she was up to that day.

Though, that was the fun of it all... life was good, overall. In their friendly banter, and through some extracurricular digging on his own, he learned piece by piece parts of the puzzle that made her who she was. And what he did ascertain was that this particular girl had a penchant for getting caught up in her own crap; that she often stepped on anyone that got in the way of solving the one murder she never could. And she never let anyone in, well, at least she tried not to.

In his naïveté, he thought he could change all that.

So he played along... tolerated the distance at first; in fact, it suited him. He liked the cat and mouse act compared to the stagnant relationship he had left back home. There was this excitement of it all, the thrill of the chase, the newfound feeling deep in his gut, the _butterflies_. He had never really felt that way before.

Often enough, this girl, rather _woman_, left him at a loss... but he willingly chose to remain a glorified bachelor, chasing the impossible. It had been a challenge that he had been geared and ready for. This woman, born and raised on the south side, was a complete enigma. And he was drawn to her... even after she went missing for months and nearly got him killed time and again. He remained her friend, trying to gain her trust. It was something to work towards; it gave his simple life some meaning.

He chalked up their kisses to moments of weakness. He knew she wasn't into the whole relationship thing, and he promised himself that he wouldn't push her—rather he'd be there, if and when she figured out he wasn't the enemy.

And it worked... sort of. For a while.

She had this messed up view of sex and relationships... and trust for that matter; never one to truly lean on anyone, though the yearning for a constant in her life was there. Evident, even to him. However, she had always found it easier, more simple if you will, to push people away when she needed them most. She achieved this goal just as simply in fact... she ran, as childish as that seems.

So even if there had ever really been something there, he'd been too afraid she'd uproot, make like a tree, in his words, and 'leave' to take that something anywhere. At least with the wall up, they'd remain friends, and more importantly, she'd 'stick' around. He could handle that. The question became, for how long? Truth was... he, himself was already beginning to question his motives... there was a feeling there. Just underneath his skin.

And no matter how hard one fights it, after becoming a butterfly, there's an inner caterpillar that remains changing still—expanding upon a newfound freedom of flight and learning the ways of the adult world. His is a universe continually shifting; altering in attitude and mannerism, though too often nobody slows down and takes the time to really notice.

Not even him.


	2. Chapter Two

Change is a difficult process when you get down to the nitty-gritty of it.

Often, it takes place outside the observation of the world as a whole. Sure, some transformations are blatantly evident. The thing is, you only notice the metamorphosis until after the fact; when it's too late to go back.

She had always despised the word _change_. So, rather than dwell on the meaning of the word, her analytical mind would short out and think of change as in pennies, rather than _change_ as in metamorphosis. Yet another defense mechanism to try and cope with all she had to live with on a daily basis.

And her subconscious defense system was put up for good reason, it was understandable in fact; for no matter how hard she tried to modify her 'basic situation' it always failed her... terribly, with undeniable and often complicated consequences. She'd work her way up and then inevitably come spiraling back down, to that dark place where she'd end up more often than not. He had been right on. She was like an alcoholic.

But that's where her comprehension of change ceases; where the understanding simply dies.

She believed change to be unattainable at best, and so shied away from it at all costs. She never before realized that sometimes she was powerless to fight its effects... that she couldn't always control it, even if she had tried everything in her power to ignore that possibility.

She'd always been pretty self-involved, for good reason. She had her own demons to wrestle with, her own skeletons in the closet if you will. So why worry about those of somebody else?

However, everyone has skeletons in the closet, whether she chose to acknowledge that or not.

Her emotional baggage aside, she began to learn how to open up, a little, bit by bit. She started to notice that everyone carries a load—some more effortlessly than others. Her newfound friend was an integral part of getting her to realize that. He cared; genuinely, and all he asked for was her trust. She began to think that maybe it wasn't so bad to care about him too.

However, a wall put up for their own protection, held her an arm's length away. Always. She wasn't ready to take that barrier down, and so she hadn't realized how different he had become until it was almost too late.

Granted she hadn't stopped long enough to take in the entire picture, though as time wore on, she did notice a few inconsistencies in his personality. Subtly at first; there was a small mood here, an uncharacteristic utterance there, almost cynical if she didn't know better. She never thought anything of it. The alteration was so small, seemingly insignificant.

She knows now, and completely understands that more often than not, things are more significant than they seem. She won't ever forget it either.

After Malden, and the standoff with her father, her once happy-go-lucky country bumpkin shied away from situations in which he'd have to face the man that he once held a gun to. Inevitably, that meant avoiding her too. She tolerated it, after all, they were just friends, and it wasn't in her to forgive him right away.

In fact, somewhat childishly, she had even blamed him for the way everything had panned out in her apartment that night… much the same way she had blamed her father's so called friends for selling him out years ago. She projected her sheer frustration with the situation onto him, but it hadn't been _him_ that she was actually angry with. She didn't care at the time; she simply wanted someone to chew out for the mess, and God forbid that someone would be herself.

But her indiscretion began to weigh on her heart. As if... she _cared_. Which she did, but this feeling, was so new. Her mind began to drift at work, while pouring over paperwork, not a moment went by where she didn't see his retreating, shadowed figure, shoulders shrugged and head low... walking away under the dim glow from the street lights. Wordlessly. He hadn't even acknowledged her tirade, which at the time made her that much more infuriated.

She had been so vehement, and not a day went by that he wasn't reminded of her words... They tortured him—echoing in his head relentlessly. He simply couldn't lay that demon to rest. It was with him, constantly... but all subject to interpretation really.

_She was drugged,_ he often reminded himself. She doesn't, didn't, and never will have any true recollection of all that had transpired... She didn't hate him; he didn't do anything wrong. He had simply done his job, but that wasn't of importance to her. She had expected him to be her friend first and foremost, but instead he subjected her father to countless hours of questioning... It had spiraled out of control... too quickly for him to stop it all.

He couldn't help but think that he hadn't been able to keep his promise. _I'm not going to be the guy who sits by and buys you another drink, pretending none of this ever happened. I'm not that guy, _he reminded himself. But through all of this, he was, in a way, _that guy_. And he hated himself for it.

So he threw himself back into his work more fiercely than before, becoming much like one of the robots that lined his shelves at home. Home, what a joke. He had come here to make a new life for himself, and proceeded to screw it all up. The only thing he really had left was his job. He was a cop, first and foremost. At least that's what he tried to tell himself.

He should of heeded the warnings... should have listened that Cavanaugh was a name not to be taken lightly around these parts. He should have...

But.

He couldn't help but care for her still. My word, he couldn't help but care.

He knew she wasn't one for apologies. So he nearly hit the roof when she called. Yes that's right. She called first.

Now, granted that didn't mean she was the first to speak. A series of 'uhs' and 'ums' ensued before he realized exactly who it was. He hadn't been too articulate either, and the silence soon became deafening... until a decided click and a dead line breached the awkwardness. _Typical_, he thought. But she had called. That, in itself, almost made him smile—something he hadn't done since he silently slipped into the night.

It took them both a while to even begin to forget the events that had transpired. He'd been so afraid... for her life, for her safety, for _her_. As much as her demons were her own, the fact that he knew they existed made them his too.

The awkward period did in fact pass, though not without some prodding from outside sources. Miraculously enough they found themselves working on a case together... Macy's doing. Frankly Garret was sick and tired of her moping about as if Armageddon was afoot.

He walked into Autopsy Two, avoiding the corner office while reading over the particulars on a rather upsetting case. Children were always tough... homicides and kids just shouldn't go together. But often they did, unfortunately. He walked in the exam room, still immersed in the file, and asked blankly, "What have we got doc?" expecting the 'doc' to be Nigel or Peter or Bug. He never expected...

She was taken aback by the simple sound of his voice. He was there, right behind her, assigned to her case. _How the hell did that happen?_ she thought as she turned to look at him, swiftly pulling off her face shield in the process. He was still looking down; nose in the case file, but the stiff silence lingering after his unanswered question soon became cause for his concern. His eyes wandered up briefly, and a look of utter shock came over his visage as he noticed her standing there, a myriad of emotions evidently welling up inside of her. He glanced back at the exam room door for but a moment, making certain it said "Autopsy Two". Alas, it did. He was in the right place, but was she?

Neither spoke, taking in the sight of each other, for it had been a while. At least it seemed that way. He wasn't certain how long it had been exactly; likely no more than a week or two, though it felt like years.

No, they stood in awkwardness yet again, before simultaneously uttering something, _anything,_ to subdue the silence. It was nothing new, they'd been there, done that before. However, she was the one to throw her hand up this time. "Please, just stop." She said succinctly, with a gesture saying more than a thousand words. Before he could even respond, she began filling him in on what she had discovered from the small child laying lifeless upon a grey slab.

Working through the case together proved to be strained at best. She didn't want to talk about it... and granted he didn't either. So they let it go, as much as you can let go and forgive.

They had caught the man responsible, none other than the child's uncle with a perverse obsession, and in closing that case, she found herself seeking him out. After booking, she knew he'd have a stack of paperwork, but she blindly allowed herself to go see him. She cared... but why was that so difficult?

Ignoring all the skeletons between them, and pushing the entire affair into the realm of her unconscious mind, she ended up practically dragging him to the Pogue once the i's were dotted and the t's crossed.

And so he suddenly was re-initiated into a world of the smoky pub and beer nuts... and _her_... but was it the same?


	3. Chapter Three

It wasn't the same, not the same at all. The entire ordeal was declared taboo even to speak of it; the look in Max's eye said it all. But that didn't mean it wouldn't eat at him, from the inside out.

Little by little, he almost earned her father's trust back, over time; at least he liked to think so. It took a mountain of avoidance, and some civil, often monosyllabic conversations, but at least they could be in the same room, as long as she was there to keep her father at bay. Which, throughout the years, she had strangely become good at...

And eventually, she started asking for those favors again, inviting him to dinner, or a night at the pub, especially after a few extremely difficult cases they had liaised on... again, all Macy.

But he found that his heart wasn't in the same place it once was. Something was sitting on it, squeezing the passion for life out of him drop by drop. It wasn't an instantaneous thing, as such changes rarely, if ever, are. And, it wasn't like he could make everything right by hiding in a shell again, emerging later—free as he once had been. No, nothing was the same exactly... and little did anyone realize that his metamorphosis had yet to be complete.

He often found himself simply going through the motions, trying to remember what it was like before... to be around her without reservation, sans inhibitions. He struggled to recall a time when the smell of her hair, her hand across his back could send goose-bumps down his spine... in a good way. Sure, these days the goose-bumps and butterflies were still there, every time she touched him, whether it be intentional, or entirely by accident. But the looming disquiet ate at the pure genuineness of the feeling. He couldn't help it. The past haunted him.

Yes, he loved this woman, but she didn't really love him back, and probably never would. At least that's the best he could gather.

And she too, noticed the sparkle in his eye fade one night, when she asked if he'd like to dance off the horrors of the day. More often than not, he'd make up an excuse; pull away slightly, before she could bait him and reel him in. But that night he hadn't the heart for being cheered up. He didn't want to move. He didn't want to forget. He just sat there, expressionless, trying to make sense of his choices, his world.

Resorting to physically getting him off the bar stool, she led him to the dance floor... realizing that simply holding onto him seemed to make him relax. What she didn't notice however, was that the sparkle in his eye never fully returned.

He often felt like he was drowning in the past; never having really made the right decisions in his life. So he worked. He solved case after case without ever really resolving the one case that mattered most. Ironic, it seems.

But that night... that night would be forever etched into his memory...

Satisfied that she had made him feel at least a little better (it always worked, why wouldn't it tonight?), she let go. However, strangely he hadn't looked into her eyes and smiled like he used to. He whispered a curt "thanks" and headed back to the bar, contemplating in drowning himself in another shot of whatever the hell he'd been downing for the last hour.

He left her standing there... alone. And it took her a moment to follow him. She suddenly felt angry... as if he had cheated her out of something, like her own peace of mind. She just about reamed him one for acting so short, when he turned to her and asked, "Do you ever wonder that hypothetically, y-you took the road less traveled, beaten your own path... and it ended up biting you in the ass, was it worth it. The freedom? No. That's not w-what I w-wanted to say... I-I just. I wonder sometimes... if I should have stayed home, been all my parents wanted me to be... would it have all been better somehow?"

He was talking too deep for what she wanted to get into, and she really didn't have an answer.

So they sat. In relative silence... her hand over his.

What she didn't know was that he needed more than that. He needed her to tell him he was wrong... that he was a better person because of the choices he made. That he mattered to her, more than for simply some transient comfort after a rough day at the office.

He needed to know that his parents would have been proud of him... for taking the initiative to change his basic situation, and look for something that made him happy somewhere.

He had gotten the most disturbing call you can get when you're off on your own, and he couldn't tell her. God damn him, he couldn't tell her. So he pulled himself up, whispered a "g'night", and slipped away silently into the night, for not the first time.

She was left at a loss, and so figured she'd let him sleep it off and ask him to join her for breakfast in the morning. She never thought he would run.

Little did she know his reasons why...

He was gone, all of a sudden, and that's all she knew... which can eat at a girl to the point of resentment. She wasn't any different.

On the whim that he would have had the strength to ask her to accompany him, he had purchased two tickets earlier that same day. He now found himself returning one, and going about his way alone.

He took his seat inside the aluminum bird, requiring it for the wings he had once held in such a high state of regard. After all, they were once the very same wings that had allowed him to fly free in the first place.

As the perky raven haired flight attendant waved her arms about in mad gesticulation, he sat there, stoic. Why the hell did he care about the dual nature of the seat cushions? _Hell, let the sea swallow me whole_, he thought. But then again, the only water they'd be flying over were the Great Lakes... at least that's what he'd imagined, not knowing the particulars of flight paths and all.

The stewardess simply continued her spiel, making a seemingly solid effort to indicate the emergency exits and so forth to anyone who bothered to listen. He wasn't paying much attention... and he found his mind immediately went to the woman he left behind. He should have asked her to tag along... he should have said something... told her somehow. But what was he supposed to say? _Um, I really need you to come with me, back home... to meet my parents before it's too late... the clincher is, they're dead_. No, no. That wouldn't have worked... how about _Hey, my parents died, I'm going home to bury them, care to keep me company? _Hell, that wouldn't have gone over well either.

He didn't want to do this alone, but he couldn't have dragged her into it; even if she was the only one he wanted to be there... for _him_ this time. Regardless, this was his burden to shoulder; he reminded himself that was strong enough. Besides, she didn't feel for him the way he felt for her. He knew that, deep down somewhere; they were simply friends, a little more strained in the past year, but still friends. That's all they'd ever be. She made that point loud and clear, more times than he could count. But he still loved her, so much so that it actually hurt. How sad is that?

Butterflies have minds of their own, always and forever. His mind simply didn't mesh with his heart.

As the airplane taxied, and readied for takeoff, he took in a few deep breaths in effort to calm his shot nerves, awaiting his wings to lift him into the vastness of the atmosphere once again. He had never really minded flying; it had always felt refreshing somehow. _Liberating_. But he couldn't get comfortable this time, not comfortable at all, and for good reason. He was headed home, to let go of his childhood... for good. Whether he was ready or not, he didn't have a choice.

An hour into his journey, an odd feeling suddenly washed over him. He had been sitting there aimlessly, when the spontaneous desire for the plane to fall to the earth in a flaming mass of metal reached his conscious mind. Looking around in alarmed discontent, he wondered that his thought wouldn't go unnoticed... as if each and every other passenger could read his mind somehow. Still slightly paranoid, he immediately felt guilty for thinking it in the first place. But that didn't stop him from nursing the sensation in the farthest recesses of what one may call the subconscious mind.

The weird part was, the more he tried to suppress this particular thought, the more he began to care less. Even as he looked to the small child across the isle trying religiously to simply form a bubble from his chewing gum, he couldn't bring himself to care. He wanted the whole lot to go down, himself included.

He shook his head, running his hands through his hair, not noticing the odd, yet genuinely concerned stares from the old woman seated directly to his left. He didn't even hear her, "Are you all right, son?" over the noise his torn and confused inner monologue had become.

He was a cop damn it; he was supposed to help people, not sit there wishing for their demise. He simply couldn't make sense of it... of life... of anything. He didn't even feel human.

Another few moments passed, and the old woman gave up her inquiry, brushing off what she took to be sheer rudeness on his part. It wasn't until the perky flight attendant with the raven hair came by and placed a slender hand upon his shoulder that he was jolted out of his internal melodrama. For a moment there, he saw _her_... but after a few blinks, he decided he was hallucinating again, and reminded himself that the stewardess was in fact, not _her_.

He graciously thanked her for a rather sparse package of peanuts, thinking that airlines were getting cheaper these days. He took another glance to his right, noting that the young boy had given up on his chewing gum adventure and was now happily munching on salty airline peanuts. He found solace in the thought, if only for a moment, that he was once quite similar to that boy himself—not a true care in the world.

He had been staring, and he hadn't gone unnoticed.

The child's eyes glistened slightly, in what can only be described as youth. He was eyeing the bag of peanuts...

Surprised that he'd been discovered, but owing it to the child's keen desire for more than five pieces of a salty snack, he then proceeded to give them to the kid across the isle, as if to repent for the sin of wishing for his death.

And as the eagle landed, he followed that little boy and his mom out into the world he had once considered home.

He scanned the lot for a familiar face, wondering how this could all seem so surreal. This wasn't happening; his parents weren't really just _gone_. It couldn't be; someone made a huge mistake.

But the look on his brother's face made it all dreadfully real.


	4. Chapter Four

It took her two seconds to realize that he had turned his phone off.

Two minutes later, she realized he wasn't going to answer his door.

After two hours, she learned that he had somehow fallen off the face of the earth, though nobody could seem to explain why... much to her sheer frustration.

The only thing his supervisor would tell her was that Dorothy wasn't in Kansas anymore and who the hell knows where Toto went. He couldn't even reveal when the once so perky detective would be back for more abuse... or _if_ he'd even come back for that matter. He then added his two cents in about country kids and how they never really make it in the 'real' world. The blatant bias disgusted her the moment he had uttered it, but she couldn't help but think that underneath it all, it may have held a miniscule grain of truth. After all, a city kid is a city kid. It was just, an entirely different jungle out there.

Even so, her malleable detective friend had seemed to become a bit more concrete as of late... which was a good thing, up to a point. But even concrete can't withstand drastic fluctuations in the environment, and the constant wear and tear would break down anyone in time. Was that what happened?? But why wouldn't he have said something? Or did he try, at the bar, when she couldn't think of what to say?

She felt lost.

Her computer-savvy coworker became the only true voice of reason, which was odd, considering how much trouble she always seemed to get him into. He had even offered to help her freely, as if he knew how much the entire ordeal was consuming her before she'd even seen him enter her office.

After fighting for answers from his captain all morning, she had just now started to think that it wasn't worth it; maybe he didn't want to be found. So she told her British friend to let it go—forget about tracking him down. That if he wanted to be chased, he'd have said _something_. At least that's what she told herself, but she wasn't really certain if it was true.

She outwardly gave up on him, but it wasn't any matter. After all, she figured that he had already given up on her, probably long before she had even noticed. It was obvious; at least it seemed to be from her perspective. And the one tragic flaw of mankind is the inability to ever truly walk a mile in another's shoes.

She chose to forget him, thankful she had never officially given her heart away and deciding that she was right not to, ever. She told herself that the wall had been the wise choice all along, and he was simply more evidence that "love" wasn't all it was cracked up to be. It wasn't the answer. The good doctor Lisa had simply been mistaken...

However, deep down, she knew that she had been telling herself a lie... or two... or three. He had part of her heart anyway, and she had had no say in the matter. She couldn't control it... and that terrified her to the core. So she came to resent him, in a short manner of minutes, and not necessarily for leaving without a goodbye, but for being a thief... stealing a piece of her that she couldn't simply take back. Yet no matter how much she thought she hated him, her emotional auto-pilot brought her to the same place every night.

One second she would be in her truck, en route to 227 Pearl Street, and next she knew she'd be in his neighborhood, not a block away from his building. Just because. Every night she would drive by, momentarily gazing upwards and looking for any hint of life in that fourth floor apartment window. On one hand she was hoping for a sign that the prodigal son had returned... if only so she could release some pent up frustration by chewing him a new one.

Two days turned into a week, and then some. Still nothing. No light in the living area, no outline of a tall, muscular figure in the window, no phone call... no _him_. She was starting to feel desperate. Was he was really just... _gone_?

Two weeks to the day into her newfound night-time routine, she began to think that maybe she had lost her mind. He wasn't ever coming back, and she was doomed to live out this evening check-up for the rest of her life. Such was the drama.

She found herself, yet again on his street. But instead of giving in to the impulse to check up on him, she chose to try and wean herself from this insanity. She promised to nobody in particular that she'd simply pull in and park, wait for a moment, and not look up. Baby steps... baby steps. All can be accomplished in baby steps.

Right.

She soon lost all self control, and figured that just one peek in the general direction would be even a smaller 'baby step', and so much more tolerable... and her heart jumped as she noticed a faint light and a shadow moving in what she knew too well was his apartment.

He had just gotten home. He had survived the journey home. He was home.

No. No matter how often he reiterated it to himself, it didn't feel like _home_. He thought that maybe he should move, but he didn't see how that would solve the problem either. Cal had practically begged him to stay back in Wisconsin, but he couldn't deal with the emptiness. He did contemplate it though, and wondered if he should just go pack everything up and start from the beginning again. But that wouldn't make him happy; not in the least. At this point, he wondered if anything would—that maybe life just wasn't even worth it anymore.

He had played the game. He had put forth more than a solid effort, and he had at one time gained some ground, only to turn around and lose it all... ending up with less than he started out with. So what was the point?

One thing...

There was just one loose end. It was something that had been in, on, and consuming his mind for, well, two years really. Something he had to know before he made the biggest desperate decision of his life and he had to hear it. From her...

He had his fingers on the touchpad of his cell phone, about to turn it on for the first time in two weeks and dial her number when a light rapping fell upon his door.

He turned around, cursing the timing, and not wanting to deal with his idiot landlord at the moment. But he was taken aback, to say the least, to uncover a thoroughly rattled Cavanaugh waiting for him on the other side of the door. She appeared angered, upset, yet almost surprised to see his face. Half expecting it to be someone else, she had to make sure, and out uttered a shaky, "Woody?"

"Hi Jordan," he replied quietly, not knowing what else to say.

She turned her head, taking note of the duffel bags that had yet to be unpacked, and she felt that all too familiar resentment bubble up under the surface. She tried to hold it all in for a few moments at least. However, before either of them knew it, all hell broke loose.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned...

But he simply didn't understand—he hadn't really done anything to deserve her anger like this, had he?

He didn't have much of anything to say to her tirade, so he kept his mouth closed and his eyes on the floor. She'd have to come up for air at one point. His silence fueled her fire for a while longer, before she suddenly stopped and looked at him with pure vehemence...

It was his turn to reply, at least to acknowledge her feelings. But what he said was enough to stun her; even if it was only for a fleeting two seconds.

Softly, and somewhat desperately, he began, moving towards her and reaching out to hold her arm, "d-do you love me Jordan? Is that why you're so pissed off? I-I just don't get it." He paused, looking her directly in the eye to emphasize his point, before continuing with, "and the only reason I'm standing here trying to figure it out is because I love you. I can't help it; damn the walls, the lines in the sand... the stupid, idiotic childish games. I love you, and I have to know... do you love me?" His voice trailed off as he finished his sentence, barely above a murmur. One last look at her face, and he had it instantly committed to memory.

She backed away slowly from his touch, clutching onto herself like a wounded child who wasn't ready to forgive her parents for not letting her eat the one last cookie in the jar before dinner. She began with utter confusion, "Where the hell do you get off changing the subject like that? You…" but was quickly cut off.

"I'm not changing the subject; I just want to know, was I right?" he spat back at her, in the same tone she had taken with him.

"What are you talking about? You weren't right, not right to just up and disappear without saying ANYTHING!" she shot back with nothing but venom.

"What I'm saying is, why the hell else would you come here, not two minutes after I walk in and start accusing me of being someone you don't know anymore... unless my absence had hurt you in some way? Do you love me Jordan?" he asked again, now desperately awaiting her response.

She took a step backward, and thought for a moment. But she wasn't sure, "How am I supposed to answer that? You want me to tell you yes... so we can forget the past few months and pretend that life has a happy ending. Well guess what, it doesn't! And I'm not going to stand here and tell you something you want to hear just to alleviate YOUR guilt!"

His tone became flat, and his expression blank. It began to freak her out at bit. "You have yet to answer my question Jordan."

She wasn't interested in him confronting her like this, nor was she particularly happy about it. The situation had turned on her, and she was not longer in control of it. Resenting that feeling as well, she started again, "God bless it! I don't have an answer for you! This whole thing... maybe under different circumstances... maybe before..." she began to shake uncontrollably, fighting any and all urges to just break down into tears right then and there.

It was his turn to cry out in frustration, "Damn you Jordan..." along with a few other choice words which shall be left to the imagination, shot at no one in particular, except maybe the man upstairs. He managed to regain a semblance of control, and continued, "Don't you get it? Things ARE different... they have been for months now, but you just go on pretending like the past ever happened. Have you even changed at all?"

A pause ensued, each lost in the air that clung to his last utterance.

Once he figured out for himself exactly where he wanted to go with that, he began to explain, "You, you're still so self involved... stuck in that ten year old, too afraid to believe in something, too afraid to feel, that you fail to see. You don't know... you wouldn't... I should have known."

She was shocked. Where did he get off going _there_?

"How DARE you bring my demons into this! That was... low... really low. And you know what you son of a bitch? I was absolutely right, not you! You aren't the same person... not the same at all. As far as I'm concerned, you, whoever you are, are as good as dead! I may have been able to love _him_, but you? The answer you are looking for is NO. Happy now? I couldn't love you... but you already knew that."

He took a step towards her, and uttered two words, "Get. Out." as the blood rose to his head, and that vein in his neck began to bulge just a little bit more.

She wasn't about to listen... how dare he order her around! But then again she couldn't take it anymore. He was so different. Hell, she didn't even know who this imposter posing as her once good friend was. He sounded like him, sort of. He looked like him, for the most part. But he wasn't _him_. Resigning to the thought, and sincerely disgusted by it, she took the easy way out... and complied with his one last request.

He slammed the door behind her, with more fury than she thought possible. Shuddering as it closed, she paused, leaning her head against the door and waiting for her legs to catch up with her rapidly beating heart.

Funny, he hadn't slammed the deadbolt shut like she would have thought. Little did she know that it was the last thing on his mind.

He had gotten his answer, granted it wasn't how he hoped it would go, but he no longer cared. Nothing was worth living for anymore, and now he just wanted it all to be over. He caught sight of his gun out of the corner of his eye, and it hit him... how easy it would be... he figured sooner was better than later.

It had all spiraled out of control so quickly. She was the same, he was too different... he had changed too much—going from someone she was afraid to love to someone she couldn't love at all. Little did he know, she was still just outside the door.

Rather than stay and try to fix whatever the hell had happened, her anger told her to run. And she did... well, for two paces—until an ominous sound stopped her dead in her tracks...

Fin


End file.
